


a hearth burns still

by Taste_of_Suburbia



Category: The Lord of the Rings - All Media Types
Genre: Falling In Love, Family, First Kiss, Fluff, Friends to Lovers, Friendship, Getting Together, Huddling For Warmth, Love Confessions, M/M, Mild Hurt/Comfort, Mutual Pining, Post-The Breaking of the Fellowship, Romance, in_a_peartree, sappy and sweet
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-30
Updated: 2019-12-30
Packaged: 2021-02-27 10:15:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,159
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22025440
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Taste_of_Suburbia/pseuds/Taste_of_Suburbia
Summary: It is not the first moment Frodo feels foolish for ever having imagined, thought itnecessary,that he could do this without Sam.Immediately follows the breaking of the fellowship.
Relationships: Frodo Baggins/Sam Gamgee
Comments: 10
Kudos: 124





	a hearth burns still

**Author's Note:**

  * For [scatteredmoonlight](https://archiveofourown.org/users/scatteredmoonlight/gifts).



> Written for scatteredmoonlight as part of the in_a_peartree [comm](https://in-a-peartree.dreamwidth.org/) on dreamwidth. 
> 
> This is my first time writing Frodo & Sam and my first time writing in this fandom, so hopefully it’s not too bad. Every time I watch the trilogy, I have more and more appreciation for Frodo and Sam.

The first night away from the others is the hardest.

Even so, there has been a weight lifted, a freedom from further responsibility and guilt, having known he was leading them all to their deaths, a burden he could neither lessen nor eradicate save for this decision.

It is as it must be. They have only themselves to depend on now, only themselves against every imaginable obstacle and foe and it is not enough, it will _never_ feel enough, but this is his course, not chosen, not familiar and increasingly not kind, but he has felt for many days now that this is the only road he is meant to venture.

It is not the first moment Frodo feels foolish for ever having imagined, thought it  _necessary_ , that he could do this without Sam.  _His_ Sam. Even with his constant companion, in some ways he is still alone as the Lady warned him he must be and yet… every moment he looks at this one person there remains his home, his beloved Shire, perfectly encapsulated in the sturdy form of his dear friend. 

Sam is a reminder that he is not alone, so far from home. A reminder of what he must fight for, something infinitely large as Middle Earth and at the same time, only one very specific place: green and fertile and full of laughter and festivals and gardens stretching as far as the eye can see, food enough to gorge yourself upon, books enough to occupy one for decades upon decades.

He may never make it back, may never look upon his once home in the same light after everything he already has and inevitably will have to go through, but someone must fight for the Shire.

Someone must put aside their own desires and goals to do  _one_ thing good. 

As they walk, as his feet ache and blister and burn, as the Ring grows heavier with each step, as the sun grows dimmer and colder and threatens to no longer light their way, Frodo becomes acutely aware of his place in the world. He knows that he is small enough, innocent enough to accomplish this arduous task. He knows his steps are silent enough to almost walk through Middle Earth undetected, and that his soul is light enough without the weight of greed or ambition or petty selfish hopes.

He knows that if there is one person in this world he’d want with him on this task, unasked for but accepted nonetheless, it would be one Samwise Gamgee. For they are the same in so many ways, in all the ways that  _matter._

They were together at the very beginning, after all, when the world was a little less dark, the journey a little less rough, their only concerns staying far enough away from the main roads, preserving their food and finding comfortable, hidden places to rest at the close of each day. It had almost been like a spontaneous trip, if Frodo had stepped back far enough.

Now there can be no mistaking the urgency of their mission.

And as Frodo becomes more aware of his surroundings, the Ring unusually quiet against his breast, his thoughts and concerns drift towards his loyal companion, carrying their only belongings and thus, pieces of home with him. They are so far away now and they will travel further away still, but Frodo refuses to dwell on things he has no control over.

Surprised at Sam’s uncharacteristic silence, Frodo glances back, Sam unaware of his wandering gaze, and smiles. There is something altogether comforting in the light rustle of Sam’s footsteps behind him, louder than his own careful ones but quiet enough to cause Frodo little concern. Frodo knows that the others would have remained with him, with little regard to themselves, and he worries about them still even though he knows he has no time to do so.

He is certain now that Sam would have followed behind until he had caught up, even not knowing the way. In his dear Sam’s eyes, it would be no less than a betrayal to Gandalf and Frodo and even to himself if he had not. Frodo accepts that Sam is meant to be with him, accepts that this was Gandalf’s intention all along.

Sam _is_ Frodo’s heart, after all. 

Frodo slows a bit, dwindling the space between them. It’s not a sudden thing and yet it catches Sam’s attention. “Something wrong, Mr. Frodo?”

“Why would anything be wrong, Sam?”

Despite feeling impossibly light and perfectly content to simply walk with Sam through woods they do not know, to a place they must find some way to get to despite any other being reasonably terrified at this prospect, Frodo can sense that Sam is more burdened than he and that bothers him. He can tell that his friend is cold and it is more than just the physical ice of the river at their backs. He catches brief glimpses of the fear in Sam’s eyes: the impossibility of knowing what is to come next, the realization that they may yet fail as there is so much stacked against them, the certainty that they are on the very brink of hopelessness and that all their friends are doomed to horrible deaths if they do not succeed.

He knows these fears intimately because they plague his mind also, they occupy his ever waking moment ceaselessly and even go so far as to invade his dreams. They constitute an ever-growing painful mass in his chest, crushing in against his heart, robbing him of any peace of mind.

But he will carry them,  _not_ Sam. He will do everything to keep Sam as far away from the darkness as he can, until he can no longer. 

_Not_ Sam.  _Never_ Sam. 

Frodo quickly changes the subject. “The light is fading fast. I fear we will not cover much more ground today.”

“Then we will get an early start tomorrow. Once we get clear of these trees, we should be able to see the best path to get to where we need to go.”  _Sam_ , always with an easy, positive answer for everything. Frodo finds he needs this optimism to bracket him, to remind him that they haven’t failed. 

Frodo moves to take the pack from Sam’s shoulders but stops mid-motion, always having to remind himself that this is Sam’s task: taking care of him, taking care of them both so Frodo can worry about what he needs to, about what he must. Instead, he settles down on a particularly soft patch of earth, eager to rest his wearied feet and content enough to watch Sam unpack until he grows impatient at his companion’s incessant need to keep himself busy. His clothes are still damp where Frodo can see, body trembling occasionally as if warning him of the imminent drop in temperature as the sun flees from them.

He leans forward, hand resting over the pack’s flap. “I know you are cold, my dear Sam. Come sit beside me, the food can wait a bit.” He readies further reassurances, waiting for Sam’s inevitable concern over his lack of appetite, his increasing insomnia, the weight of which they dare not speak.

There was a time when they would speak of  _everything_ . There was a time where they could never have predicted this in their wildest imaginings…

Sam relents; he must be every bit as tired as Frodo surmised. The ring-bearer moves over a space and Sam gratefully settles in the warm patch of earth Frodo intended him to have. Once his friend settles, Frodo moves closer, quickly so as to make little fuss over it. His arm settles over Sam’s shoulders, nudging him even closer.

He has seen Sam’s watchful eyes on him, has seen them his entire life. They carry more now, such hurt and uncertainty and the stirrings of guilt, things that Frodo would rather have spared him. They are the same eyes, however, bright and affectionate and shy, curling up to Frodo in one moment and recoiling the next in misguided shame.

Frodo has either ignored them or soaked them in, but he has never given anything back other than friendship.

Hearts change over time.

Or, a light shines over them in a different arc than anything that has come before.

He sheds his cloak and wraps it around his friend’s hunched shoulders. Sam has grown as much as he has, though likely more. He is stronger in places where he once would have been considered weak, hardened where he once was full and soft, more observant and more thoughtful, more of everything that Frodo has taken for granted and needs more of than the very air he consumes.

Frodo has given little thought to Sam’s sacrifices.

“We should sleep close tonight,” he offers,  _hopes._ He knows this is more necessary than purely selfish: one of them cannot keep guard each night and hope to last many days with such little rest. And Sam will never allow Frodo to keep watch period. They will take up as little space as possible, will contain as much warmth between them as they can with winter nearly at its close but its chill stubbornly persisting. 

Sam must have the same thoughts as he, for he immediately relaxes back against Frodo as if he has just given him permission.

There are  _so_ many things that Sam need no longer ask permission for. 

With this in mind, Frodo presses closer still as if he is asking permission to rekindle that fire in his dear friend’s eyes. “Are you warming up, Sam?”

Sam glances up and Frodo glimpses the doubt behind his eyes, believing he must be of some use, must take care of Frodo if he is to be here at all, but Sam does not understand, not yet, how he has always been so much  _more_ than a gardener or a cook or a friend or a companion to Frodo. 

He knows that things will change, that time will press on as swift and as sure as this weighted, callous darkness. He knows that the ring will attempt to tear everything familiar away from him, suspects that he will hurt Sam in one way or another before his duty is done, so he will say the words now if only so that Sam may carry them with him and keep them in his heart when Frodo finally loses himself.

Sam must know or suspect because Frodo catches  _something_ dancing behind his eyes, some long held back emotion. “Mr. Frodo…”

Frodo’s hand cups a chilled, hollowed out cheek. It does not at first glance appear so but Sam has lost weight, has lived rough these months and has done so without complaint, has done  _everything_ without complaint. Warmth explodes in Frodo’s chest and he hopes that it will engulf Sam, hopes that it will warm him quicker than Frodo’s words will, words that he knows could never sufficiently speak the depths of his heart. 

“My dear, Sam. You have held back your love for so long, longer than seems fair, and I have done you wrong by pretending I knew not of its existence. Know that every moment I held myself back from pining for you was intentional. I was not ready then and should not be ready now but life… it seems that life has had other plans for me. You are my dearest friend and my closest companion and you are more even than that. I do love you, Sam. I desire your happiness above all others’. You must forgive every occasion I have led you to believe otherwise.”

Sam softens, filling out miraculously in the space of a moment, appearing young and healthy and unburdened again, as if only worried about what to fill his stomach with and how to make Frodo’s flowers grow taller and shine brighter than all the others in the Shire. “Forgive you, Frodo? I’d sooner forgive myself for ever having doubted you.”

Frodo does not know who leans forward first, will never remember even replaying the tender moment years afterward, the night they were allowed to share all of themselves, their nights thereafter only ever-dwindling shadows and still  _enough_ , enough to keep going, to keep dreaming of a better world, one free of pain and darkness and terrible failings. 

He remembers that Sam’s kisses were warm and sweet and a taste of the Shire, his hands warmer still, his heart a blazing hearth of light and loyalty and love. He remembers when he could hold love in the palm of his hand, when one thing could still be so easy, when the world opened up and smiled at him and he was part of that world for one last time.

There is one promise that Frodo has vowed to keep that no one else knows but him save one.

He will leave this world, better and brighter, for  _Sam_ . 

**FIN**


End file.
